Masquerade
by dragonscales707
Summary: Sherlock has been captured and John has to go to a masqurade ball to find and rescue him. While at the ball he runs in Moriarty who offers his help for a price. Will John have to take him up on his offer? And if so, what will Moriarty's price be.
1. Chapter 1

Jim smiled as he tracked Sherlock's pet's progress through the ball room with his eyes. He took a sip of his champagne and enjoyed the doctor's attempts to remain inconspicuous amongst the high class of people to which he clearly didn't belong.

'Poor pet, he's lost his master,' Jim giggled quietly to himself.

He was well aware Sherlock was being held somewhere in this mansion, but for once it wasn't one of his plans and he was content to let things play out for the moment. He might even offer his services to the doctor if it didn't look like he was getting anywhere. After all, Sherlock's pet wouldn't have even made it inside if Jim hadn't spotted him and paid off/threatened security to let him in. These balls were always so terribly dull, and ruining rich people's lives with a few choice words got old after a while. Jim took another sip of his champagne and subtly began stalking the doctor as he made his way through the ballroom.

John Watson was close to having a panic attack. He was generally a cool man under pressure and adverse circumstances (as evidenced by his career as an army doctor), but this was almost too much. Bloody Sherlock had gotten himself captured and was now being held somewhere in this huge expensive mansion. John hadn't had any time to put together any sort of plan and Lestrade wasn't answering his phone, not that John had any real evidence that the DI could use to leverage his way in here for a search. Mycroft was overseas somewhere (or else he probably would have been one of the guests) and John didn't really know or trust any of the agents he was sure Mycroft had left behind. A few weeks ago one of his people had been caught passing some information onto a still unknown contact and John wasn't about to risk trusting any of Mycroft's men unless Mycroft himself was here to direct things.

The stupid thing was it was Sherlock's impatience that (once again) had landed them in this situation. John had been filling in at the surgery several days in a row due to several doctors being out sick, including Sarah, so he hadn't been able to run after Sherlock as much. While he still got the summary of things he didn't have as many of the details of the case like he usually did. Sherlock had been too busy dashing off after a leads and John had been too busy trying to get to work on time each day.

The case had started with Lestrade calling them after he stumbled across four murder cases that on the surface didn't seem connected at first. However something about them caught his eye and he had called Sherlock in to confirm there was a connection. The four murders happened within the last three months. Each death was different from the others in cause of death, the type of victim, the location, and the evidence both on and around the body. Somehow out of whatever Sherlock deduced from the files, he had declared that a small, exclusive cult with from high society were the culprits. Sherlock had then started working on identifying just who those members were.

Once he had determined that the mansion John was in right now was most likely the meeting place for the cult members, Sherlock had declared his intentions to do a little breaking and entering so he could look around for evidence. John had told him to wait a day, when he would be able to go with the idiotic man and watch his back. But _no, _the detective just had to go right then which was two days ago and now he had been captured and was being held somewhere in this bloody huge mansion. At least Sherlock had left him a note, even if it had been done in true Sherlock style.

John,

If I have not returned by 5pm tonight, I have most likely been captured and somehow unable to escape. Unless my body has already been discovered. There is a masquerade ball tonight; you should be able to make your way in with what _you _call your best suit and a mask. Undoubtedly I will be held somewhere inside and I would suggest you find me by dawn as the information I have collected indicates that another victim was to be sacrificed in accordance with the rising of the sun on the third day of their kidnapping as one of the cult's rituals. Now stop all that swearing and stomping around you're probably doing and hurry up. I have no doubt that I will be terribly bored by the time you find me.

SH

That wasn't the worst part of it all. Which was a miracle considering his suit was making him feel uncomfortable, as well as the fact that it was quite obvious it wasn't as expensive or tailored like everyone else's. His mask was cheap as well, fit him poorly, and was restricting his vision more than he was comfortable with. He might have been able to work through all of that if it wasn't for the fact that he was the only bloke here without a date. Every single man here had some sort of beautiful or expensively dressed woman on his arm. Granted, it would have made looking for Sherlock a little more difficult, but damned if John didn't feel as if he stood out anyway.

However, all of that paled in comparison to the problem John had just noticed a few moments ago. A man standing in a corner formed by a pillar and a wall a little ways away was watching him. John risked a quick glance and rapidly paled as the man noticed him and smiled, the lower half of his face exposed by the elegant half mask he wore. It wasn't a nice smile; it was a smile filled with malicious glee and one John recognized immediately.

_'Bloody fucking hell! Of all the people to run into here, why the fuck did it have to be Moriarty?'_ John's heart rate sped up and his palms became clammy with sweat as he frantically looked around for an escape route that would get him away from Moriarty quickly. The last thing he wanted was Moriarty deciding to kidnap him or strap him in a bomb again.

But it was too late; Moriarty had already crossed the space between them, was right in front of him so they were practically chest to chest and much too close for appropriate public behavior, especially at a posh ball like this. John forced himself to remain still and keep a calm demeanor, leaving his body relaxed. He didn't want to give Moriarty any sort of advantage, and that included showing he was rattled by the criminal's proximity not to mention the fact he was here in the first place.

As Sherlock's pet finally noticed his presence and had a predictable freak out, Jim couldn't suppress the smile he felt forming. Oh! He was having so much fun already. He just couldn't resist any longer, and walked over to the doctor, crowding him against the wall he had his back to, making sure that there was barely any space between them (and certainly not enough to be appropriate for a high class snobbish event like this). Jim giggled again- he loved being able to kill two birds with one stone. Screwing with Sherlock's pet and at the same time offending all the stupid, hypocritical, rich sheep in the room gave him immense satisfaction. Noticing his giggle had disturbed the doctor in front of him, he smiled even wider.

"Hello Johnny boy! What brings you here? I would ask you if you come here often, but we both know that's not true, not with what you're wearing as you try to pass yourself off as a member of high society."

As he watched the doctor's ears burn in embarrassment at his cutting remark, Jim continued.

"It looks to me like the pet has lost his master and is frantically trying to sniff him out. He must definitely be somewhere in this mansion, if you're here."

John stiffened, his hands curling into fists out of sight in his pockets as Moriarty's words sank in. "Did you have something to do with this case, Moriarty? Is this one of your games?"

Jim leaned into John, grabbing his arm in a grip tight enough to bruise, as he whispered in the other man's ear, the amusement clear in his voice.

"Call me Jim, Johnny boy." He emphasized the order by squeezing even tighter on the arm in his grasp. Bruises would definitely form later. "As for dear Sherlock, no, I don't have a hand in this… For once. However, I could be convinced to lend a helping hand in finding him… for the right price, of course." The grip on John's arm changed from vicious to a gentle stroking motion as Moriarty finished his sentence and licked John's ear seductively.

John couldn't quite contain the shudder of disgust that ran through him, even as he cursed himself for giving Moriarty the reaction. Still smiling that insane creepy grin, Moriarty leaned back enough that he and John could look each other in the face again. His hand gave John's arm one last caress before slipping into the pocket of his pants. At this point John didn't know what to think; normally the fact that Moriarty was here meant he had some hand in it somewhere, but in all the evidence and leg work Sherlock and John had done before Sherlock had gotten captured didn't shown any connection back to the consulting criminal. He clenched and unclenched his fists in his pockets as he tried to think. It looked as if Moriarty's presence was just a coincidence, as unbelievable as that was. However, the fact that Moriarty was now interested in what was going on was a bit not good. John didn't even want to think of the implications right now behind what Moriarty was insinuating the price for his help would be.

"What makes you think I _need_ your assistance, Mori-, I mean Jim?" John demanded. He had changed the name at the last minute when Moriarty's hand had flexed in his pocket like he wanted to squeeze John's arm again and his eyes flashed a warning. John didn't need to be a genius to know that antagonizing the consulting criminal over something as simple as a name right now would not be to his benefit. Or Sherlock's, at the moment.

'Oh how delightful the pet is when he squirms.' Jim mused as he took in the doctor's reactions to his playful flirting. Jim couldn't help it, a little shiver of delight made its way down his spine as he thought of the reactions he would undoubtedly get if he forced Sherlock's pet down on his knees and shoved his cock right down the man's throat, wiping that defiant look right off his face. Even better if he held off until they were right in front of Sherlock to do it. Oh, he could just imagine the look on his mirror opposite's face as he saw his pet giving Jim a blowjob as payment for his rescue. Ripping his mind away from his fantasies before he got too caught up in them, Jim decided to let the doctor know just exactly why he needed his help. He leaned in again a little so he was once again whispering in the man's ear.

"Oh, you _definitely _need my assistance, Johnny. It may not look like it in here, but they have an ex-military security force with loaded guns roaming the halls outside of this ballroom, as well as electronic security pads at all the doors. Sherlock might have the skills to get past the locks, but I highly doubt that you do. By the way, have you found out where they're keeping your master, Johnny, or have you not even gotten that far?"

The last part was said in Jim's trademark sing-song cadence and grated on John's already frayed nerves. The man knew damn well that John didn't have the faintest clue where they were holding Sherlock. Still, he couldn't trust Moriarty to tell the truth about the security unless he saw for himself first. Moriarty must have seen the distrust in his face, because he backed off and gestured to the nearest door with the hand not holding his champagne glass.

"If you don't believe me pet, go take a peek and then come and find me when you figure out you can't save your master without my help." With that Moriarty tossed back the rest of his champagne and wandered off into the crowd, tossing a smug smirk and a wink over his shoulder as he went.


	2. Chapter 2

After about twenty minutes of wandering around and sneaking peeks through the various doors around the ballroom that lead into the rest of the mansion, John was able to conclude that he was well and truly fucked. Moriarty was right about the security: there was no way he would be able to get through the security locks on the doors and evade all of the hired guns on his own. Not to mention he still hadn't managed to pinpoint with any accuracy where they were keeping Sherlock. He couldn't see any other option besides taking Moriarty's offer. Mycroft's men weren't really an option. The man himself was overseas trying to sort out just who had managed to get one of his agents to sell information on him. John didn't trust any of Mycroft's people very much in the first place but especially now after even Mycroft didn't know who he could trust. Sherlock's brother wasn't due back for several more days and since Anthea had gone with him John couldn't risk trying to contact Mycroft by himself. As much as John was dreading it, he _really _couldn't see another option. Sherlock had already been in these people's hands for two days, and he didn't know what kind of shape the detective was in. If the multi-talented man hadn't managed to escape by himself already, then these people were more dangerous than they had thought. Either they drugged the consulting detective or found a way to restrain the man who knew as many tricks as a professional escape artist. John knew from the note the detective left he had until dawn before Sherlock would be killed, if he was right about the cult's ritual. No, he really couldn't afford to wait. John steeled himself for the conversation ahead and started walking towards Moriarty. The criminal was standing in a corner near the bar with a full glass of champagne in his hand. As he spotted John making his way over, the expectant look on his face changed to a smile of gleeful triumph.

Jim couldn't contain his excitement when, about twenty minutes after he had left Sherlock's pet, he spotted the doctor quite reluctantly making his way across the room towards him. Jim knew the doctor had checked to see if he had been lying about the security measures and had finally realized that Jim was right: he had no chance of rescuing Sherlock that night unless he accepted Jim's terms. As the doctor walked towards him, Jim let his eyes trail over the other man's form, anticipation a slow curling heat in his stomach and moving downwards to his cock. Half of Jim's desire for the man was because he was unquestionably Sherlock's, and putting his mark on something of Sherlock's in a way that the consulting detective wouldn't be able to forget about anytime soon was a heady thought. The other half was due to the doctor himself, the short hair made of multiple hues of gold, the blue eyes that became absolute glaciers when he was mad, and the short, stocky body formed from his years in the army and kept fit even after he was shot and sent home. Jim was fascinated by the man's devotion to Sherlock, considering he received no compensation (not even sex, apparently) According to his sources, the man even turned down a guaranteed five figure monthly income from Mycroft Holmes because he refused to inform Sherlock's older brother about what Sherlock was up to. Yes, Moriarty wanted to see just how far that devotion would take John Watson, and what he would be willing to do along the way.

John came to a stop about a foot away from Moriarty, needing at least some space between himself and the insane criminal in front of him. A mixture of dread and revulsion in his stomach made him want to find a bathroom to throw up in. The only thing that kept him in place and not running away as fast as he could from the psychopath in front of him was he had no other choice. If he wanted to save Sherlock he had to do this. At Moriarty's expectant look, he began to speak, grateful that none of his inner turmoil and uneasiness came through in his voice; it remained steady and calm.

"If I do accept your offer of help, what exactly is the price I'm going to have to pay?"

Jim pretended to think for a moment, finger tapping against his mouth, before making the motions of an "ah ha!" moment. He lowered his voice deliberately and all but purred his demands, putting his champagne glass down while stepping closer to the doctor, and brought one hand up, splaying it on John's suit right, over his heart.

"Why Johnny boy, all I want is _this_ for a night." He patted the hand over John's heart twice. "I want what you give Sherlock freely every day. Your utter devotion and loyalty, your obedience to every one of his whims, no matter what they are. For the rest of tonight, if you will be mine, I will guarantee Sherlock will be found and freed before dawn. That isn't really _too much _to ask, is it, Johnny?"

John's eyes narrowed and he tried not to shift at the uncomfortable feeling that Moriarty's hand on his body, even through the clothing, was giving him.

"What makes me think that you'll keep our deal? After all, according to you, _'You're soooo changeable,' _remember?" The last bit was said in a high pitched imitation of Moriarty's words from the pool.

Moriarty's face twisted into a snarl as the hand he had on John's suit clenched and twisted while yanking John forward close enough that it looked to outsiders as though they were about to kiss. At the bar an elderly couple sneered in their direction and walked off in a huff, obviously under the impression the two men were about to start kissing in full view. Little did they know John was viciously restraining the urge to haul off and hit the man in front of him. The amount of hate that he felt towards the criminal was the most John had ever felt towards anyone, and he knew his restraint would be sorely tested tonight if he took this deal.

"Don't mock me, Johnny boy, not when I have the advantage here. It's not nice, and might inspire me to… make things more difficult for you." Moriarty unclenched his hand and went about smoothing out the wrinkles in John's suit as he continued to speak. "You're right though; I am quite changeable sometimes. But in this, if I get what I want, I won't need to change things up. After all, I want dear Sherlock to be out in the world again. He is much more entertaining alive than he would be dead and he really is the most fun I have had in years. I don't want that to end just **yet**."

Moriarty's tone was friendly but the way he emphasized the word _yet_ gave John a chill. Words like that did not bode well for the future, after this case was over and Sherlock rescued.

Jim felt the exact moment the doctor decided to cave in and accept Jim's deal. It was in the way his muscles tensed, his jaw clenched as his teeth ground together, and the look of trepidation in his eyes. The rush of triumph was almost too much to contain. His blood began pumping a little faster with his sense of anticipation, and the adrenaline was making him eager to begin his plans for the night.

John couldn't see another way, other than accepting Moriarty's deal and having to trust that Moriarty was too invested in his games with Sherlock to change his mind at the last minute and let him be killed by the cult. He tried not to think too much on what Moriarty said he wanted, and what that _actually_ meant. If it was the only way he could save Sherlock, then he would do it first and think about the consequences later. First, though, he had to make a few things clear to the consulting criminal.

"If you want what Sherlock gets then you also get the same rules I have with him. I won't hurt people on purpose unless it's in self-defense and I… I also won't take any sort of drugs, I don't care what they're for, it won't happen."

John's hesitation was brief but telling. He knew Moriarty could very well have access to drugs for later tonight if he decided John was being difficult and the criminal had no qualms drugging him the last time they had met.

"Don't try to change my mind about this because you won't, that's where I draw the line, with Sherlock and even more with you."

Jim studied the doctor for a moment after his little speech and tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. It was a bit of a pity, those rules, but seeing the conviction in the blue eyes in front of him and the set of the doctor's jaw, it was certain that changing his mind would take more time than Jim wanted to waste. After all, he only had Sherlock's pet for tonight and Jim wasn't about to waste one more second than he had to. Not to mention the doctor said _he_ wouldn't take a drug. If Jim decided to inject him, it's not like the man would have a choice anyway. Then again, it wasn't likely Jim would give him one; he didn't want to give him something to blame for what would happen tonight.

"Hmm. Very well, Johnny," he sighed theatrically. "I agree. You can keep your silly little rules. But, in return, you are _mine_ in every way I want you tonight. You are going to give me your loyalty, your devotion, and your obedience in whatever I ask you to do. You refuse anything and our deal is off, do you understand me?" At the last sentence, his voice dropped and became cold as steel, emphasizing his seriousness about the deal breaker.

John swallowed, his throat dry and his heart racing. He couldn't believe he was about to make a deal with the devil and prayed that he would come out of this relatively intact. If Sherlock came out of this free and alive, it would be worth it. John could handle whatever Moriarty came up with, he really could; he had survived torture from the Taliban and a lifetime of emotional abuse from his sister and father. Whatever happened tonight, John would get through it and have Sherlock home by the next day. With that thought John drew in a breath and straightened his posture automatically, handing himself over.

"Alright _Jim_. You have a deal: get Sherlock out of here by dawn alive and intact in exchange for me tonight."

Jim couldn't stop the slow, self-satisfied smile of triumph spreading across his face at the words that came out of Sherlock's pet's mouth. John Watson, the only person Sherlock gave a damn about, was his to do with what he wished for the next (Jim quickly looked at his watch) seven hours. Taking the other man's right arm and looping his left around it so they were arm in arm, he turned them around and began making his way out of the corner and onto the ballroom floor.

"In that case, pet, it's time for us to dance." Jim laughed as he pulled the doctor out onto the dance floor, delighting in his obvious discomfort and unhappiness. This was going to be so much fun; there was so much he wanted to do with his new pet. But first, he was going to dance to his success with his prize in hand, literally.


	3. Chapter 3

As Jim began dragging him towards the dancers, John dug in his heels and pulled the man to a stop.

"Hold on just a minute. You want to go dance? I don't dance, let alone with another man at an event like this. I doubt these people are going to appreciate two men dancing together in front of them." Seeing his protesting didn't impress the criminal John made one last desperate effort. "Not to mention, what would your date think?"

Having been pulled to a stop when John had planted his feet, arm still hooked together with his, Jim looked at the other man with a faintly condescending look on his face.

"Oh Johnny. You are _sooo_ precious, the way you think these things matter. I want to dance and I want to dance with _you_. These rich idiots don't matter. They know better than to even look at me sideways, no matter what I do. As for my date? It's really cute the way you worry. Seb is somewhere around here making himself scarce and guarding my back the way he is supposed to. Now quit it, you're just stalling and we are going to dance whether you want to or not."

With that, Jim yanked on their still-intertwined arms and pulled John fully onto the dance floor and into his arms, taking the leading position and beginning to twirl the doctor around the floor. It was obvious to Jim that Sherlock's pet was uncomfortable; he was extremely stiff and was concentrating more on the reactions they were getting than the motions of the dance. Moriarty rolled his eyes; the good doctor needed to loosen up a little.

"Really pet, you need to relax and concentrate on me. You're looking like a bumbling idiot."

John's head whipped back around from where he was looking at an older couple who were quite obviously gossiping about them. As his eyes focused on Jim's smirking face, he hissed angrily, "Well of course I'm uncomfortable and look like an idiot. I told you I don't dance! Especially with men!"

Jim's grip on the doctor's hand tightened. He was almost crushing the other man's hand as he sneered. "Don't try to lie to me, _pet_. I know you and Sherlock had a case last week in which you had to pretend to be a couple at a gay club, and the two of you managed to dance together _very_ well."

As they argue, they are still dancing around the ballroom. While he was distracted by the argument, the doctor's gait began to smooth out, and he stopped rubbernecking, instead focusing on responding to Jim's accusation. Satisfied his distraction worked, Jim listened with amusement to a now-furiously blushing doctor's defensive and angry response.

"Dammit, between you and Mycroft I don't know why we bother to think nobody knows what we're up to! I wasn't lying; you know this isn't the kind of dancing we were doing. And it was for a case, not because we wanted to!"

John knew the minute the words 'for a case' came out of his mouth he had made a mistake. Jim's slow smile of malicious triumph confirmed it.

"Exactly, Johnny boy. Remember, whatever you do for Sherlock, you do for me tonight. So for tonight, you're going to be my lover and play the part to the hilt." Moriarty's eyes narrowed as he hissed menacingly. _"Whether you want to or not."_

With those words, he used his grip on John's hand and the arm wrapped around his waist to pull him into his body, as close as they could get while still able to dance. John stiffened as Moriarty pulled him close before deliberately relaxing his muscles.

"If I was a nice person, I would tell you to imagine I'm Sherlock, but we both know I'm _not_ nice and I want your attention all on _me_ and only _me,_ Johnny. So you better start getting your head in the game before I decide you're reneging on our little deal."

Just as John was about to hotly respond to Moriarty's implied threat, they were interrupted by the sound of an annoyingly chipper pop tune coming from somewhere in Jim's suit.

'_Cause your hot then you're cold, you're yes then you're no…'_

He twirled them off of the dance floor and next to one of the many columns dotting the room. Pulling a face, Moriarty let go of John, stepped back, held up a finger and said, "Hold that thought, Johnny". He reached into the breast pocket of his suit and pulled out a cell phone, pressing a button and holding it up to his ear. John watched, unsure of what to do, as Moriarty listened for a moment while whoever was on the other end spoke. Then he broke into another one of his creepy smiles and leered at John.

"Excellent. Bring everything to the first bathroom off of the north side of the ballroom and leave it there."

John was feeling decidedly off-balance and uneasy. He found himself once again clenching and unclenching his fists trying to release some tension. He hated that Moriarty was able to get to him and disturb his normal ability to take weird things in stride so easily. His previous experience with the madman had shown him the criminal was unpredictable at best and downright chaotic at worst. John couldn't afford to be so far away from his normally calm state if he wanted to make it through the night. Sherlock was erratic and unpredictable most of the time, but at least John had learned to anticipate some of the detective's behaviors. With the consulting criminal, it was a completely different story. He didn't have the faintest clue as to what Moriarty was up to now, but he had a feeling he wasn't going to like it. He didn't like anything that was going on right now, but there wasn't anything he could really do about it. He had made the deal with Moriarty and needed to stick with it to get Sherlock out of here safely. He just hoped he could get through whatever the consulting criminal had in mind for him.

Jim ended the call and returned his cell phone to its previous place in his pocket before returning his full attention to the doctor in front of him. He was pleased to see the look of trepidation on his new pet's face and the white-knuckled fists at his sides. Jim was delighting in keeping the doctor off balance: he didn't want the man to figure anything out before he decided to let him. Grabbing one of his new pet's hands, Jim made it uncurl and then entwined it with his own, squeezing tightly before starting to drag the doctor after him as he made his way towards the north end of the ballroom. Pushing his way through the crowd rudely and dragging John behind him, Jim reached the north end door and pushed through into the hallway to another door directly opposite.

John's jaw almost dropped, but he caught himself just in time. They were in one of the biggest and most opulent bathrooms he had ever seen. It was done in white and cream with gold gilt accents and gold fixtures. A marble double sink took up one wall; above it the wall itself was covered in round ornate mirrors. Another side of the bathroom was partitioned off by a low wall about shoulder height which presumably hid the toilet. On that same side was an enclosed shower and a large whirlpool tub that could fit three people, easily. On the last wall was a closet and obvious changing area complete with a chair, table, and a full length mirror attached to the wall. However, even in his awe he didn't miss the fact that Moriarty had just locked the door behind them and he flinched at the sound of the click as the bolt slid into place.

As John whirled around, about to demand to know just what the hell was going on, he saw Moriarty grab a garment bag that had been hanging up on a coat stand next to the door. Before he could voice a protest, the garment bag was shoved into his arms and as he flailed, trying to get a grip on the bag, he was turned around and shoved towards the changing area.

"Put it on Johnny. If you're going to be seen with me, it won't be in those rags you're calling a suit."

John sputtered angrily while automatically moving in the direction he was shoved. "I do not dress in rags, I just don't spend thousands of pounds on clothes like you and Sherlock. _Bloody vain gits_." The last part was muttered under his breath, but he was pretty sure Moriarty heard him anyway, if the raised eyebrow was anything to go by.

Deciding that it was best not to start an argument he was going to lose anyway, and figuring changing clothes wasn't worth the breath he would waste protesting, John hung the bag on a conveniently placed hook in the changing area and unzipped it. Inside was a charcoal gray suit with a dark blue shirt and a tie in matching colors. The suit was obviously very high quality and John didn't even want to think about how much it cost. Figuring he may as well get it over with, he went to take of the suit jacket he was wearing before he realized that Moriarty was leaning against the wall watching him.

"Can I have a little privacy please?" He asked sarcastically.

Moriarty just grinned like the predator that he was and shook his head, "Aww Johnny, don't be shy. You can't really have that much modesty left, between being a doctor, being in the army, and Sherlock's general disregard for boundaries. I can't imagine you're not used to stripping down around other people."

John quietly seethed as he continued removing his suit jacket and shirt. Modesty wasn't the issue. Moriarty was right in the fact that being in the army and living with Sherlock pretty much stripped away any shyness he had left. It was the fact that it was _Moriarty_ seeing him. Everyone felt more vulnerable when they were naked and John was no exception. He hated the fact that the criminal was once again putting him in a vulnerable position and would no doubt be scrutinizing and assessing his body and deducing all of his flaws. Finally stripped down to just his pants, he deliberately didn't look in Moriarty's direction as he began pulling on the new suit. While pulling on the trousers and dress shirt, he could feel the quality as it slid across his skin and he resented the fact that it actually felt pretty good. Definitely better than anything he had ever worn before. Buttoning up the shirt and tucking it into his trousers before he buttoned and zipped those up too, he reached for the tie, slipped it around his neck, and quickly tied it before finally putting the suit jacket on. The entire suit was a perfect fit, of course, and conformed to his body perfectly. He was trying really hard not to think about how Moriarty got his measurements so accurately.

Turning to face the full length mirror and make sure everything was settled and hanging right, he was surprised. Actually, he was more than surprised: he was pretty damn shocked. He couldn't believe how good he looked. The color of the suit and dress shirt brought his skin, hair, and eyes to life. The cut and length of the suit highlighted the trim and fit figure that people never really saw underneath his bulky jumpers and frumpy pants. John finished giving himself the once over and looked up only to freeze as he caught sight of Moriarty's reflection in the mirror. The only word to describe the look in those black eyes was 'burning'. They were positively on fire and lust was written all over his face. For the first time that night John felt real fear seize hold of him. What Moriarty _really_ wanted from him tonight was becoming a little more substantial and it terrified him to think about it. The moment Moriarty knew John saw and truly realized just what he intended to make happen tonight written in his eyes and face in the reflection of the mirror, his restraint snapped. One second he was across the room against the door and in the next he had wrapped himself around John from behind, not leaving an inch of space between them.

Jim watched as his pet started changing into his new clothes. It was true that he didn't want to be seen with him in those rags, but there was another motive as well. It would be just another reminder to the doctor that he was Jim's tonight, and later it would serve as a slap in the face to Sherlock that he was the one that made the doctor look so good, and got to show him off in public before Sherlock had a chance to.

As John stripped down to his boxers, Jim ran his eyes critically over the other man's body and was pleasantly surprised. He'd had a feeling the doctor had been hiding his body behind those hideous jumpers and he had been right. John was trim and compact with extremely good muscle tone. His shoulders and chest held power, even with the imperfection of the scar from the bullet that ended his army career. He wasn't bulging with muscles or definition (his body was more subtle) but still in obvious good shape. Jim almost licked his lips before he caught himself as his eyes continued their perusal. The doctor's legs were short, compact, and just as fit as the rest of him, possibly even more. '_All that running after Sherlock is useful for something at least'_, Jim mused. John's body was also covered in a fine dusting of blond hair and scattered with various scars, none of which made him any less attractive. All in all, Jim was having a hard time controlling his erection; he was already half hard and rising faster the more he thought about the things he wanted to do to the doctor.

Reminding himself that he had plans for later that night, Jim forcefully suppressed his arousal until his erection had subsided, only for it to surge back to life like a wildfire a few moments later as he caught sight of the doctor fully dressed; in his few moments of distraction his pet had finished putting on his new outfit. The erection he had just managed to suppress came back and Jim was hard and aching in seconds with an animal need to possess, mark, and own the man standing in front of the mirror. He knew his lust was burning in his eyes, and when the doctor froze as their eyes met in the mirror, he pushed away from the door and was moving towards the other man before he even realized it.

Jim couldn't stop himself (and didn't really want to) from plastering his body against the other man so not an inch of space remained between them. He had one arm tightly and possessively wrapped around the doctor's abdomen and the other coming up under his arm to grip the man's shoulder, using it to make sure John wouldn't be able to wiggle away easily. Resting his chin on his pet's shoulder, Moriarty turned his head to breathe in the doctor's scent and nuzzled into the side of the delicious neck in front of him. Jim also made sure the doctor could feel his arousal as it pressed into the other man's back, right above that delicious arse, the one that Moriarty promised himself he would be in by the end of the night.

Even though Moriarty's grip was designed to restrain him, if he really tried, John was sure he could break free and do some damage before the other man could react. However, his body was frozen in a state of shock.

"_Oh Johnny..._you look absolutely delicious. I knew you would clean up well. I'm amazed Sherlock hasn't managed to manipulate you into something like this sooner. The eye candy alone is worth it." The erection still digging into John's back gave proof to his words. "When I said you were mine tonight I _meant _it. I intend to have you in every way possible by morning."

Jim could feel the minute tremors than ran through the doctor's body as he spoke and he delighted at the thought that it was him causing the usually steadfast and calm doctor to show this much of a reaction. Sighing in pleasure, Jim busied himself with biting and sucking on the neck in front of him, content for the moment to just have a taste of what he would sample fully later on.

John couldn't stop the small trembling of his muscles. He was a doctor and he was no stranger to the knowledge of violent rape; he was familiar with coerced rape as well. He had dealt with his fair share of cases over the years, both immediately after an assault and with people who had longer term affects. He just never thought he would be a victim of it himself. With that, a surge of white hot anger ran through him. He may have agreed to this deal, but he wasn't about to roll over and give in completely without making his opinion clear. Using that anger, he overcame the tremors running through him. Stiffening his body once again and becoming unyielding in the criminal's grasp.

"While you might be thinking that I am yours tonight, I _never_ really will be yours in any way that matters. You're crazier than I thought if you think that tonight will change anything." The venom in John's voice carried loudly through the room and for a few seconds after he spoke, the silence was deafening.

Suddenly, before John could react, Moriarty spun him around and viciously slammed him back against the full length mirror on the wall. John's head bounced against the glass and he was mildly surprised that it didn't crack from the force. A little dazed from the impact, he was slow to react as Moriarty's arm pressed against his throat to hold him in place and the rest of his body pressed against John's, pinning him down. John's hands came up to ineffectually grasp at the madman's arm, trying to relieve the pressure against his windpipe. Moriarty's face was a mask of rage, his eyes shining with angry insanity and all of it directed at John.

"You _really_ don't want to challenge me tonight, Johnny. I might just take you up on it." With that Jim smashed his mouth against John's in an aggressive kiss. When John refused to open his mouth or respond Jim bit down on the doctor's lower lip. John's mouth opened in a reflexive gasp of pain, and Moriarty plunged his tongue into the other man's mouth, taking away what little breath the doctor had gained.

John couldn't breathe. Between the arm across his throat and Moriarty kissing him so forcefully, he was reduced to inhaling what little air he could through his nose, which wasn't nearly enough. He began to feel lightheaded and the pain in his lip was all that was allowing him to keep conscious. His arms were pinned between them as Moriarty used his weight to prevent John from gaining any leverage to move the arm the criminal had against his throat. Moriarty took advantage of John's helplessness as he ravaged the doctor's mouth completely. The criminal mastermind was aggressive and used his lips, teeth, and tongue to explore John's mouth thoroughly, leaving no area unmolested. Teeth were run over, cheeks stroked, and his tongue sucked on. John was so light-headed at this point he couldn't even think, let alone react. He couldn't believe things had already gotten to this point. As he was being kissed, to his disgust John felt the pressure of Jim's erection on his hip, and the criminal began thrusting, giving himself some friction. If it was someone other than Moriarty kissing and grinding against him, John would have found it arousing, but as it was, all he could do was hang on and hope the man let him breathe sometime soon.

Jim was so furious he was actually seeing things through a haze of red. He couldn't believe the nerve the doctor had, to challenge him like that. The man had a reputation for being brave in the face of danger, but challenging Jim Moriarty like that was just plain stupidity. John Watson was going to be his completely, no matter what the man thought. Jim would make absolutely sure the doctor wouldn't be able to forget who had him first, and that piece of John would always be his. John could pretend all he liked that being Jim's tonight wouldn't change anything, but Moriarty vowed to himself that he would make _sure_ that it would change _everything_ for the doctor. As he attacked the other man's mouth, Jim kept the pressure on his pet's throat to constrict his airway. The doctor being unable to take in a lot of air made him a lot more pliant and Jim was able to explore the man's mouth to his content, taking out his frustrations in the kiss. He couldn't help rubbing his arousal against the doctor's hip, the friction a sweet counterpoint to the hot wet warmth of the doctor's mouth. Eventually Jim eased off of the kiss, the edge of his rage dulled a bit after he had thoroughly dominated the doctor's mouth.

John's face was red, flushed, and he was taking in large gasping breaths of air as Jim let up on the pressure across the man's throat. The doctor's lips were swollen and the bite mark from earlier was evident, as well as a small smear of blood where Jim had broken the skin slightly. John's blue eyes were still slightly unfocused as he concentrated on breathing, but they were gradually becoming more aware. His gasping slowed down into a more regular rhythm and with awareness came that lovely anger turning those eyes to glaciers. Seeing John's anger made Jim feel like another lesson would be a good idea and decided to make good on his fantasy from earlier that night. He stepped back to give John just enough room to move where he wanted him to go.

"Get on your knees Johnny, _now_." Moriarty's tone was pure command and made it clear he expected to be obeyed immediately. All John could do at that moment was stare, stunned, at the psychopath in front of him. As the words sunk in, John's anger disappeared and shock took its place. This night was going to be the worst night of his life and it was nowhere near over with.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Well here is Ch4 I hope everyone enjoys this one. I do have to warn you this is my first time writing a porn scene ever. I have never written characters doing anything more than kissing so I apologize if the scene falls a little flat. As always thank you to my beta unintentionalgenius.**

**P.S. I took liberties with what the duties of a British Army doctor would be during John's time in Afghanistan so my version is not intented to be completely factual.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

"Wait...wait just a minute." John's voice was unsteady as he tried to form a protest. "I have never done anything like this for Sherlock..."

Jim slashed his hand through the air in an impatient motion, smirking cruelly and cutting John off mid-speech.

"That's irrelevant, Johnny, because we both know you would blow Sherlock in a heartbeat if he told you to get on your knees. It's his own fault he hasn't taken advantage of your willingness before. Though it does make you wonder why not; after all, he couldn't have missed that you would gladly let him fuck you any way he wanted."

Moriarty's words struck home and John couldn't hold back a flinch. He was aware that Sherlock most likely knew he wanted him badly and that he would take anything he could get, he was that far gone on the man. The indifference Sherlock showed towards his feelings was disheartening. It was like being stabbed him in the stomach with a knife every time the detective did something spectacular that made John want to just grab a hold of him and kiss him senseless but he couldn't. John constantly felt like in the end, he would be reduced to loving and lusting after a man who didn't want him back for the rest of his life. And it would be the rest of his life; John couldn't imagine life without Sherlock anymore, even if he couldn't have him as anything other than a friend. That feeling was what drove him to make this deal with Moriarty, to make sure that Sherlock would live even if it meant sacrificing himself.

Jim was satisfied as he saw the doctor flinch in response to his pointed remark about Sherlock's seeming indifference to his feelings. But he was becoming irritated with the doctor's useless protesting; they both knew Jim was going to get his way in the end.

"I won't say it again Johnny, get on your knees _or _I leave you here, lock the door, and give instructions not to let you out until after dawn. _Then, _when you find Sherlock's dead, broken body you can think about how you could have saved him." Moriarty's words were cruel and designed to cut deep; they hit home, causing John's gut to clench in fear at the thought of being trapped in here and unable to get to Sherlock.

John slowly and reluctantly dropped to his knees, his bad leg protesting the movement and his apprehension clear on his face. Jim savored the sight for a moment before moving forward so his groin was inches away from the doctor's face. Reaching out, Moriarty fisted his hand in John's hair and tilted the man's head up enough so the doctor was looking at him full on.

"Make this good, pet, and don't bore me. I occasionally like a hint of teeth, but mind your manners."

Moriarty released his hold on John's hair after he gave a warning squeeze and dropped his hand back to his side, waiting for the doctor's next move.

During his career as a British Army doctor, John had been to several war zones, the most recent being Afghanistan. Part of his job had included patching up enemy combatants who not two seconds ago had been shooting at his fellow soldiers. The higher ups always wanted as many of the enemy alive as possible for interrogation. That meant John had to put his feelings aside and do his best to keep the enemy alive and able to talk. When he had been captured, along with the other members of his team while on an escort mission one day, the Taliban insurgents holding them hostage hadn't let him take care of his wounded team members until he had treated all of their men. Two of the soldiers in his team had died before he was able to treat them. Over the three weeks John was held captive, the insurgents forced him to treat all of their wounded using his teammates as leverage.

The amount of helplessness and rage John had felt during that time scared him with its intensity. He had forced himself to bury that fear and anger to concentrate on keeping his people alive. By the time they had been rescued, John was mentally exhausted, and had become increasingly emotionally detached from the things he was forced to do in order to save his comrades. He was reduced to functioning on automatic, not thinking of anything but what he needed to do to keep the others alive and his captors happy enough that they gave the men food and water as a reward. After he and the others had been rescued, John slowly began to lose that detachment and extreme focus, the guilt beginning to set in. By treating those insurgents he enabled them to continue fighting and killing more British and other allied soldiers. Who knew how many people's deaths he had been responsible for as a result? The psychologist they had sent him to for evaluation and counseling only repeated what John had already known in his head. He had kept his fellow soldiers alive the only way he could and he shouldn't feel guilty over that. Even knowing at the time he'd had no other option _but_ to comply with his captors didn't make the actual feelings of guilt go away. Once he was cleared for duty again, John threw himself into his work, trying desperately to save as many soldiers as he could, hoping to make up for his actions.

Until Moriarty had come along, John didn't think he could hate anyone as much as he had hated his Taliban captors. Instead he found he actually hated the criminal more. He could understand fighting for a cause you believed in, even if he personally didn't agree with said cause. Moriarty on the other hand did all of his malicious plans for fun and because he was bored. It was disgusting to John that someone could place so little value on human life in general. Sherlock at least was willing to listen to John when he corrected him on proper human behavior and occasionally made the effort to understand why something was 'a bit not good'.

John knew he was going to have to find and use the emotional detachment he had developed while being held captive before. It was the only way he was going to be able to bury his hate and disgust enough to give Moriarty what he was demanding.

John's hands trembled as he made several aborted attempts at raising his hands to Moriarty's belt buckle before he managed to steel himself enough to touch the other man. His mind was slowly finding that sense of detachment he needed and John's body was starting to move on automatic. It was one thing to say he would do anything for Sherlock, but the reality was harder than John thought it would be. This time there wasn't anyone literally holding a gun to his head leaving him no other options. Moriarty gave the illusion of him having a choice, even though there really wasn't one. The leather belt holding up the criminal's trousers came unbuckled easily under John's hands. As he started unzipping Moriarty's fly, the other man's voice washed over him in warning.

"Be sure not to make a mess, pet. I don't want a single spot on my trousers when you're done."

John didn't even bother dignifying that remark with a response; he just concentrated on not losing his nerve as he pulled Moriarty's zipper down, exposing the criminal's silk underwear. Trying to make this as impersonal as possible John didn't bother tugging the pants down; he just pulled out Moriarty's erection through the slit in the cloth. He didn't know what he had been expecting, really, but the criminal's cock was perfectly ordinary looking. It didn't have devil horns or anything screaming _I belong to a mass-murdering psychopath_. It was nestled in a cushion of black hair, a decent length and width. The glans peeking out from the foreskin, and there was a little bead of pre-cum beginning to form at the tip.

It had been a long time since John had fooled around with another guy, let alone given a blowjob. He took a deep breath to steady himself and then closed his eyes, blocking out the sight Moriarty's body. Curling one hand around the base of the erection in front of him, John leaned forward and licked a long stripe from where his hand was placed to the swollen tip. The only reaction from Moriarty at the contact was a hiss of indrawn breath and a slight twitch of the erection John was holding.

Jim was actually quite proud of his restraint so far. As much as he wanted to just shove his cock down the doctor's throat over and over again until the man choked and Jim made him swallow every drop of semen as he came, he wanted even more to see what the doctor would do on his own first. Jim could always take over later if he wanted. As his new pet gripped his cock and took his first lick, Jim couldn't help a quick hiss of indrawn breath or the twitch of his erection in the good doctor's grip. The feeling of that warm tongue sliding up his cock was divine and his anticipation for the feeling of that mouth sliding all the way over him and taking it in completely increased.

John pumped his hand up and down Moriarty's erection one time, feeling the soft skin slide as the foreskin briefly covered the glans before descending back down again. He finally mustered up his courage, and slid his mouth over the head. Slowly taking in as much as he could with his mouth, and covering what he couldn't with his hand, John began moving his head up and down. The saliva pooling in his mouth made Moriarty's erection slick and easier to move smoothly on. As John drew his mouth back up, he swirled his tongue around the tip of Moriarty's erection. The taste of pre-come was bitter but not completely unbearable. Once he got used to his mouth being invaded by a large object, John began trying to actually get Moriarty off. His thought was that the sooner the psycho got off, the sooner this would be over with.

Once his new pet actually took him fully in his mouth, Jim had a harder time concealing his reactions. The stimulation of the doctor's mouth, warm and wet, sliding up and down his erection felt wonderful. It had been a while since Jim had indulged in physical relations of any kind and even longer since he was actually excited about it and not just going through the motions to get off. He wasn't as bad as Sherlock in putting aside bodily needs in favor of work. However, more often than not, he ignored the sexual urges of his body until they became too distracting. Fucking a prostitute or two usually took care of the problem when that happened, even if they were boring. Interesting people he actually wanted to fuck were so hard to come by these days.

The saliva that made it easier for John's mouth to move up and down also gave Jim an interesting sensation when the doctor's mouth moved up, leaving part of his erection exposed. The chill of air hitting the flesh where it was wet with John's saliva was a tingling counterpoint to the heat of his mouth, until the doctor covered his erection once again. Against his will, Jim's breath began coming a little faster as his pet's tongue came into play. Licking around the sensitive tip John pulled back and played around with Jim's foreskin for a few seconds causing the criminal's hips to jerk at the unexpected sensation. The doctor's hand and fingers, calloused from holding and firing his gun regularly, moved on what his mouth couldn't reach. The slight catch of those callouses on Jim's cock was just the right sort of pleasure-pain, making him shudder from the feeling.

John could tell he was starting to get to Moriarty when the man's hips began thrusting a little and his body shuddered slightly from the movements of his mouth and hand. Up until then he hadn't gotten much of a reaction, besides the criminal's breathing getting slightly faster and a little more pre-come dribbling out of his slit. The whole time he had been working on Moriarty, John hadn't opened his eyes once. He had no desire to have a visual of this encounter embedded in his brain. A moment later John felt a hand raking through his hair, stopping to rest on the back of his head. Then he heard Moriarty's voice, deeper and slightly ragged with his quickened breathing and obvious arousal.

"Take me deeper pet, I know you can."

Knowing that if he didn't start doing it on his own, Moriarty would just force him, John took his hand away from the base of Moriarty's erection, grabbed both of the criminal's hips in hands to brace himself, and hoped to control the man's thrusting somewhat. Very slowly he began taking Moriarty's cock deeper in his mouth little by little, silently thankful for the fact that he naturally had almost no gag reflex. Eventually the tip of Moriarty's erection hit the back of his throat and he began to swallow, his throat constricting around the other man's cock. Moriarty's hips jerked, trying to force more of his cock down John's throat but his hold on the other man's hips kept him more or less in the same place, saving John from choking.

So far, the hand Moriarty had on the back of his head was just resting there, not pushing or pulling, but John had a feeling it wouldn't be that way for long. He began establishing a rhythm and each time he took Moriarty's erection back in he swallowed him down to the root. Interspersing all of the swallowing and sucking with movements of his tongue; he swirled it around the tip of the erection, stabbed it in the slit a few times, and played under the foreskin trying to bring Moriarty closer to the edge. Remembering the criminal's comment about liking a hint of teeth, John periodically scraped Moriarty's erection lightly with them at random moments.

A few moments later, Moriarty's other hand lifted up from his side and he now had a hold of John's head, with a hand on each side. John dimly registered this action as he kept his eyes closed and continued to service the criminal. He knew what little control he'd had up to this point was about to be taken away. Sure enough a second later Moriarty's fingers tunneled through his hair and gripped both sides of John's head tightly. Using his new hold, Moriarty began pulling and pushing, moving John's head up and down his erection, burying himself deep in the doctor's throat each time he pushed the other man's head down. All John could do was keep his throat relaxed and breathe through his nose so he wouldn't choke when the criminal buried himself as deep as he could go.

Soon enough Moriarty was picking up the pace, thrusting faster and pulling John's head roughly forward, practically slamming his cock down the doctor's throat. John didn't even attempt to swallow around the man anymore: the pace was just too fast. At this point, he was nothing more than a warm hole for Moriarty to get off in. And the psychopath_ was _getting off; even through the rough treatment John could feel the other man was approaching orgasm. Little hitching gasps for breath, the slight trembling of the thigh muscles every time they brushed against John's chest and the way the criminal's erection was swelling and becoming harder than before. A moment later, John was proved correct as Moriarty pulled his head forward hard and buried himself down the doctor's throat one last time with a groan of pleasure as he came. John immediately started swallowing, not wanting to choke on the fluids spilling in his mouth and down his throat. The taste of come in his mouth was bitter and repulsive. The thought of having Moriarty's semen in his body for the next several hours made John want to throw up. He controlled the urge through sheer force of will knowing Moriarty would punish him somehow if he didn't. Now sated, the psychopath didn't start pulling back until John had swallowed every drop, and even then he did it slowly, making the doctor feel every inch of his softening cock as it slid slowly out of his mouth. Now that it was over with John slowly opened his eyes as he panted trying to catch his breath, and winced as they re-adjusted to the bright lights in the bathroom.

Jim's disorientation from his mind-blowing orgasm lasted at most thirty seconds before his brain recovered and resumed its usual processes. Pulling out of his pet's mouth slowly, as the doctor tried not to throw up what he had just been made to swallow, Moriarty pulled up his trousers and (leaving them unbuckled) walked over to the sinks. Casually wetting a washcloth he quickly and efficiently wiped his groin off before tossing the washcloth onto the counter. Tucking his now flaccid penis away, Jim put his shirt to rights and zipped his trousers back up. Re-buckling his belt, he walked back over to John, who was just now beginning to catch his breath again. Shaking his head and clucking his tongue in amusement, with a mock caring manner he admonished the doctor at his feet.

"Don't just sit there and look stupid Johnny, you're wasting time. Clean yourself up and make sure you brush your teeth; you wouldn't want to have bad breath. We still have to go out there and find out from the stupid rich _sheep_ where Sherlock is being kept."

It was amazing the doctor had the ability to still glare at Jim after what he had just endured. Even through his post orgasm satisfaction Jim couldn't help but feel a twitch of arousal. His pet still had some defiance in him and it pleased Jim that he hadn't broken him yet. He was looking forward to the rest of the night and his plans to slowly and eventually squash the doctor's resistance until he couldn't muster up even the slightest bit of that defiance.

As John slowly got up from the floor and made his way over to the sinks, his leg obviously bothering him, Jim walked over to the little side table by the door and picked up a box that was sitting on top. Leaning back against the door, he waited, tapping his foot impatiently as the other man had his little moment of angst, combed his hair, and brushed his teeth with the toiletries he found in the drawer. Once the doctor wiped his face with the hand towel one last time and turned around, Jim tossed the box to him. The stupid questioning look as he caught the box annoyed the criminal; sometimes the other man could be so incredibly dense.

"Open the box and finish getting ready, Johnny. It's time to go play _investigators._ After all, that's Sherlock's favorite game, isn't it?"

John finished swallowing Moriarty's release and suddenly shame came over him burning in his gut making him want to curl up for a moment and just breathe. The state of detachment he had managed to maintain during the whole encounter was now slipping away and everything John had pushed to the back of his mind was now clawing its way forward. His anger, guilt, and shame all swirled chaotically around in his head. He couldn't believe he had just given a blowjob to a man he hated, let him come in his mouth, and swallowed it down. Distantly he heard Moriarty admonish him for just kneeling there and tell him to clean up. John let all the hate he felt at that moment show in his eyes as he glared at the criminal mastermind. Unfortunately he couldn't keep it up for long; he was too mentally exhausted after what just happened and his emotions were in turmoil. His body was once again running on auto pilot without conscious input from his mind when he managed to get to his feet. The spikes of pain in his bad leg had him limping as he made his way to the sinks. Deliberately keeping his eyes down he leaned on the counter top and bracing himself with his hands, John attempted to ease his leg by taking some weight off of it. He was trying to avoid looking in the mirror as long as he could; he wasn't quite ready to face himself just yet, he needed a few more moments. Vaguely remembering Moriarty mentioning something about a toothbrush, he pulled open the top-most drawer and saw individually sealed packages containing a comb, toothbrush, and a little tube of toothpaste. Pulling out one of the packages, he examined it for a moment before setting it on the counter and raising his eyes to the mirror, taking his first look at his post-blowjob appearance.

Overall, he guessed he didn't look that bad; it was probably just his own knowledge of what happened that made it feel like it would be completely obvious to other people. His hair was understandably messed up from Moriarty gripping it and his face was still a little flushed. His lips definitely stood out though, they were puffy looking, and tender when he touched them lightly with his tongue. The imprint and small cut from Jim's earlier bite was slightly visible, but would hopefully fade a little more soon. It would be clear to anyone they talked to that something had happened, but maybe John would get away with people thinking they had just been snogging and got carried away. He thanked God for the fact it was a high society ball and- most likely- people would restrain themselves from commenting due to a sense of propriety, or at least he was hoping they would.

Opening the toiletries packet, he set about combing his hair back into order and then attempting to brush the taste of Moriarty out of his mouth. He tried to bring his focus back onto Sherlock's situation and the case, by reviewing what he knew. He absentmindedly wondered (as he scrubbed his teeth rather viciously) just how much Moriarty had deduced, because as much as he hated it the criminal was on par with Sherlock and Mycroft when it came to figuring out almost everything from almost nothing. When John finally felt as if he had brushed and rinsed as much of Moriarty out of his mouth as he could, he splashed some water on his face and grabbed a hand towel to dry off. Turning around, he was surprised as Moriarty tossed him a box, automatically catching it. Wondering what the hell the criminal was up to now, John raised an eyebrow in question at the man. He made sure to keep his tangled up emotions from showing on his face.

After the condescending remark about Sherlock, John resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the way Moriarty said the word "investigators" and opened the box. Inside was a pair of expensive looking shoes, dress socks, and a pristine white half-mask. He really shouldn't be surprised; if nothing else the psychopath had proven himself to be thorough in everything he does. John should have expected the brand new shoes and a new mask, to go along with the new suit. Sitting down on the chair in the changing area, he started putting on the socks and shoes.

"Now that you have had your fun, can we get back to finding out where Sherlock is in this damn house?" John's voice was tense with his anger at having to work with the madman who had just forced him to perform oral sex.

Moriarty sneered arrogantly back at John, his tone of voice showing his disdain.

"This whole thing is utterly boring and no challenge at all. I don't understand why Sherlock even bothered with it. A cult based out of this manor has been sloppy in disposing of the people they kill and caught the attention of the police. Sherlock got caught snooping and they plan to kill him in some ritual at dawn." After rattling off those deductions quickly Moriarty's voice turned menacing with anger. "They have made a huge mistake thinking they can kill someone _I_ am playing with. _No one_ but _me_ gets to end Sherlock's life and I am nowhere near done with him."

John curtailed himself from making a nasty comment about how Sherlock would be the one ending Moriarty's life and not the other way around before responding.

"Well considering Sherlock didn't exactly leave me a list of suspects, you might have to put whatever little plan of revenge you have on hold until we get Sherlock out of here."

The look Moriarty gave him was even more patronizing than usual and managed to convey just how much of an idiot he thought John was.

"Do you _really_ think I don't know who is involved in something like this, Johnny?"

John finished tying his shoes and stood up, the half mask clutched in his left hand as he looked at Moriarty suspiciously.

"How would you know unless you were involved in this somehow? You said you weren't earlier."

"Nooo..." Moriarty drew out the word slowly. "I said I wasn't involved with Sherlock being caught and held here. I never said I hadn't had dealings with these idiotic cultists before. When they were just starting out, they begged me to help dispose of the body the first time they managed to kill someone." His fingers began tapping against the door behind him, betraying his irritation. "After I provided them with that particular service a few more times they decided they knew enough to do it on their own." His contempt and irritation with his former clients was clear. "Obviously they were wrong and managed to screw things up enough the police noticed."

John should have known better than to think Moriarty was completely uninvolved with these people, even if it was before Sherlock had been called about the case. The psychopathic criminal always did boast about having his finger in every pie in the criminal underworld in some way or another.

"So basically you're getting a bonus out of this deal by saving Sherlock, screwing these cultists over, and getting them arrested."

Moriarty beamed at him like you would a dog that had performed a particularly difficult trick.

"Excellent deduction pet! I do love killing two birds with one stone. Sure, I would have taken care of them one way or another eventually, but this way is _sooo_ much more fun, because I get to play with you, Johnny!"

John closed his eyes briefly with a resigned sigh. Damn these geniuses and their fucking games, because it was always him that was caught in the middle and taking the collateral damage. Opening his eyes again, he tried to get back to his original question, pinning Moriarty with a serious look.

"Ok so you obviously know who is behind all this. But how are we going to find out where Sherlock is actually being held? I don't think they are just going to tell you, especially if, as you say, they think they don't need your help anymore."

Rather unimpressed with the doctor's attempt to stare him down, Moriarty walked forwards and grabbed his pet's unoccupied hand tightly with his. He then started dragging the doctor towards the bathroom door while ignoring the man's attempts to free his hand and angry protests.

"That, Johnny, is why we have to go back out there and converse with some of those _lovely_ people. Once I talk to each one of them for a few moments I will not only be able to tell where Sherlock is but what ritual they plan on doing. So put your mask on, Johnny, it's time to go play the game."

With that announcement, he unlocked the bathroom door and dragged John out by the hand, absentmindedly grabbing his own half-mask off the side table and putting it on. Fumbling, trying to put on his mask one handed because his other hand was still gripped tight in Moriarty's, John almost cringed. Once again, all he could see of the criminal's face as Moriarty looked back over his shoulder at him, mask in place, was his creepy psychotic grin that did not bode well for anyone, let alone him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry it's been so long people but real life once again got in the way. **

**Thank you everyone for the reviews you have given me I do appreciate you taking your time to comment on my story. One thing about my writing that I am sure people have noticed is my tendency for run on sentences and that bad habit of telling not showing. I am working on that and all I can say is that it is difficult to restructure the way I write when it comes to professional versus personal work. In my work I do a lot of instructional writing and it ends up carrying over in my thought processes when I write personal things. As I have said before, it has been a long time since I have written for purely personal reasons. However I am working on improving this and my beta (unintentionalgenius) has been a great help. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and I will try and have the next one out a little sooner.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

They entered the ballroom with the doctor lengthening his stride so as not to be dragged along like a petulant child by the criminal. Pausing for a moment in the doorway, Jim looked around. Spotting the bar, he decided that he needed a drink, and that his pet could probably use one too. Moriarty tugged on John's hand once, indicating where he wanted to go, before heading in that direction. Reaching the bar and letting go of the doctor's hand, Jim wrapped his arm possessively around his pet's waist, dangerously close to the doctor's arse. Hiding his revulsion at being manhandled or, for that matter, having any part of Moriarty touching him, John suppressed the urge to shove the criminal away from him, not wanting to make a big scene. As the bartender made his way over to them, the doctor managed to plaster a polite smile on his face just in time. Wiping his hands on the rag at his waist, the bartender didn't even blink as he took in Moriarty's obvious show of possessiveness.

"What can I get for you gentlemen tonight?"

When John looked at Moriarty, he was a little disturbed to see the man's face had changed. Instead of his usual disdainful look, Moriarty had on an expression similar to one of Sherlock's that John called his "playing nice" face. It was one the detective used when he wanted something from someone and knew he had to at least fake being nice to get it. John _really _didn't like it when he could see parallels so clearly between the two men. When he spoke, Moriarty had even changed his voice to be softer sounding and his speech more friendlily.

"I would like a glass of champagne please." He turned his head to look at John his face full of fake adoration as he asked, "What would you like, dear?"

When John took a breath in order to reply, Moriarty must have realized he was about to decline anything. The hand and arm around John tightened, squeezing hard once while the criminal's black eyes briefly hardened in obvious warning not to refuse. Not letting his polite mask slip at the brief moment of discomfort, John spoke up.

"I'll have a double whiskey on the rocks please."

As the bartender moved away to make their drinks, John leaned in to the criminal's body so he wouldn't be overheard as he whispered angrily in Moriarty's ear.

_"I don't want a drink!_" John paused for a moment and took a deep breath trying to calm down. He was still feeling off balance after what had just happened in the bathroom and struggling to regain his equilibrium. His gaze turned flinty and dropped down to where the criminal's lecherous hand rested. "And get your damn hand away from my arse _now_ before you find yourself unable to ever use it again."

Turning to face John completely while keeping his arm around the doctor's waist and their bodies close, Moriarty didn't drop his "loving boyfriend" act as he leaned forward to murmur his response. His lips lightly brushed against the shell of John's ear as he spoke, sending unwelcome shivers down the doctor's spine from the silky menace in the criminal's voice.

_"__Don't_ be an idiot, pet. Everyone here has a drink in their hands; you don't want to stand out when we circulate. And I can put my hand anywhere I _damn_ well please. After all, you _are_ my lover tonight, Johnny. We don't even have to pretend that part anymore, after you got me off so spectacularly in the bathroom a few moments ago."

While the doctor's ears turned red with anger, embarrassment, or both and his body under the consulting criminal's arm stiffened. Jim smugly accepted his drink from the bartender. Once John had his as well, the criminal steered his new pet to a corner away from the crowd so they could speak more privately.

John knew his face was burning and his ears red. He couldn't decide if he was more embarrassed or angry at Moriarty's casual reference to what happened in the bathroom. The criminal had the upper hand in this whole fucked-up situation and he knew it. John didn't have any leverage and he needed Moriarty's help too much to risk breaking their deal because of his personal fears and discomfort. It grated on the doctor's nerves that he wasn't able to really give the criminal the fight he wanted to. It went against his nature to let someone like Moriarty push him around; John was having a hard time not lashing out when the criminal deliberately provoked him. After they got their drinks, John let Moriarty lead him over to an unoccupied corner. Grinding his teeth in anger, John hoped they were finally going to start working on finding Sherlock.

Even though the doctor was trying vigorously to conceal his thoughts, he had no chance in hell of hiding them from someone like Jim. The consulting criminal's face hurt from trying to restrain the expression of glee that wanted to appear. The sense of satisfaction he felt from causing the normally unflappable doctor such turmoil was almost too much to contain. It was clear his pet wanted to fight back against his demands but recognized it would do him no good. So Jim was left wondering just how far he could push the doctor before he cracked and couldn't hold back anymore. The criminal mastermind was looking forward to that moment just so he could demonstrate exactly how useless it was to try and defy him. Jim always enjoyed demonstrating his power and he had _sooo_ many ideas on how to show his pet his place. Making sure he had the doctor's full attention, Moriarty's eyes stared into the blue ones in front of him.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that I will be the one doing the talking, Johnny boy." Moriarty's mouth curled up into a condescending smirk.

"You are as subtle as a brick. So just keep that pretty mouth of yours shut and play the part you agreed to." As he made the comment about John's mouth Moriarty's gaze darkened slightly in lust, obviously reminiscing.

"Do you understand me pet?"

As he looked into the merciless black eyes of the psychopath in front of him, John wanted to protest against Moriarty's mandate that he keep his mouth shut and not ask questions. He didn't like relying on Moriarty to manipulate the conversation in the direction they needed to go, but had to grudgingly admit that it was better not to tip the cultists off by asking direct questions. John knew his agitation and impatience to find Sherlock made him want to just shake the answers out of these people, which would be a 'bit not good' (and possibly fatal for Sherlock if the suspects got spooked). Resigning himself to following Moriarty's lead for now, John reluctantly nodded his head yes.

Not satisfied with the non-verbal answer, Jim gave the doctor a little shake. "No Johnny, I want to hear you say you understand me."

Glaring at the criminal for shaking him John spoke through gritted teeth. "Fine, yes I understand and yes I agree to keep my mouth shut, _for now._"

Moriarty gave him a look that conveyed the fact that he had caught John's little addition but didn't call him out on it. Instead the criminal looked around the room and, seemingly spotting his first target, he turned his head back towards John, black eyes glittering with a sort of manic glee.

"It's show time, Johnny...let's go play with the rich people!"

With that exclamation, Moriarty led the way across the floor (still holding onto John like a possessive octopus, suction cups and all eight arms included) over to a middle-aged man. What looked like a twenty-something bleached blonde woman in a red dress that was just short of being scandalous was hanging on his arm. True to his word, John kept his mouth shut while Moriarty chatted up the man. The man's name turned out to be Henry Williams IV and he didn't bother introducing his date, just as Moriarty didn't bother introducing John. The woman and the doctor might as well have been furniture, for all the attention they were paid during the conversation.

After about five minutes of small talk, Moriarty and Mr. Williams said their goodbyes and the criminal led John away towards another couple. This time it was an elderly couple, the woman dripping in diamonds and sporting a haughty look on her face while the gentleman at her side sipped at a drink, looking incredibly bored. The same process of making small talk (which John tried to follow but couldn't, because he had no idea what the hell they were even talking about in the first place) and then parting ways with a chilly goodbye was repeated. The next hour was more of the same interspersed with a break or two when Moriarty dragged John out onto the floor for a dance.

Whenever they were out on the floor dancing, John attempted to ask Moriarty what the man was learning from the suspects. Instead, the criminal would only tell him personal details that he knew would discomfit the doctor. The first man they talked to liked to hire barely-legal aged women as personal assistants and pressure them into having sex with him. The elderly woman after that apparently repeatedly drove while drunk and had a hit and run involving a child victim swept under the rug earlier that year. Another man apparently enjoyed picking up under aged boys and beating them before raping them. It went on and on like that, with Moriarty spilling all the dirty secrets he knew about the people they talked to. John was disgusted and angered by what he was hearing and he half hoped they would find proof of all of the crimes these people had committed while rescuing Sherlock. He could tell Moriarty was having fun telling him all this and watching him fume in helpless disgust. The criminal obviously didn't give a fuck what his clients got up to as long as he got paid and things went according to his plans.

Finally, Moriarty steered them over to the actual host of the party and owner of the house. He looked to be about forty-something with a stern countenance, a hooked nose, and cold blue eyes. He was Phillip Bythesea; he had made his fortune in trade investments and apparently bought his way into high society several years ago. All of this was whispered into John's ear by Moriarty as they began to get closer, along with the fact that Bythesea was the undisputed leader of the cultist group. Once Bythesea spotted them coming his way, his mouth tightened and his eyes became even frostier, if that was possible. It was clear he was not pleased to see Moriarty but deferred to the expectations of society by greeting them anyway. Despite doing the polite thing by greeting them his tone of voice as he spoke was contemptuous and his displeasure clear.

"Mr. Moriarty, how are you? Are you enjoying the party so far? I must say I am surprised to see you here, as our last communication was not particularly pleasant."

Moriarty just smiled like a snake oil salesman and replied in a voice full of fake innocence.

"I just felt like a night out on the town with my companion, Mr. Bythesea. So far your party has been just as…_entertaining_…as I expected. How have your business endeavors been doing? No problems cropping up, I would hope."

Bythesea took a sip of his drink, his eyes narrowing at Moriarty's insinuation.

"Just the usual small incidents, but those happen all the time and are no trouble to take care of if one knows how. How is your business doing? I hope ending our arrangement didn't prevent you from finding new clients."

John almost cringed in reaction to that little barb. This Mr. Bythesea was an utter fucking moron, baiting Moriarty like that. He highly doubted that the cultists were anything more than a footnote when it came to Moriarty's client list. For this bloke to imply he could affect those clients by withdrawing his business was an insult John knew Moriarty wouldn't forgive. In his opinion even after just meeting the man, Bythesea had a very inflated opinion of his worth. To John it was obvious the idiot had no real idea who and what Moriarty really was. If the psychopathic criminal hadn't already planned on screwing these people over, he would definitely be gunning for them now. Bythesea in particular was, no doubt, at the top of the list. The only indication John had that Moriarty was irritated by the comment was the flexing of the criminal's hand on his back and a little bit of tightness at the corners of his mouth, none of which was noticed by the idiot in front of them; his voice was still perfectly pleasant when he replied.

"Oh no, Mr. Bythesea, it didn't affect anything whatsoever. In my type of business, there are always _loyal_ clients who will require my services and refer new ones to me. Speaking of business, I actually received a phone call a moment ago regarding a client emergency and I wanted to borrow your office for a little while to make sure the issue gets resolved. You know how these things can come up unexpectedly. "

The way Moriarty worded things made it clear he expected to be accommodated. Mr. Bythesea looked like he wanted to refuse, but a second glance at a still pleasantly smiling Moriarty seemed to change his mind. Instead his face changed and he looked like he had swallowed something particularly unpleasant as he responded.

"Yes, clients always seem to have a crisis at inconvenient times and places. My office would be the best place to conduct your business, as I know privacy is important. I will have one of the security detail show you the way."

John could only marvel at the dance of words the two men were doing with all the underhanded insults and twisting of words. The way Mr. Bythesea turned it around making it sound as if he offered Moriarty the office instead of the criminal all but demanding it was impressive. Moriarty's voice was smooth as silk a touch of condescension slipping through as he replied.

"You don't need to bother your security; I remember the way perfectly. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr. Bythesea, and hopefully it won't be interrupted like mine."

As Moriarty and John began walking away towards the nearest door, Mr. Bythesea smiled tightly and replied, "One can only hope. Have a good evening Mr. Moriarty, and I hope your emergency doesn't take up too much of your time."

Once they were out of earshot John couldn't resist commenting under his breath, "More like he hopes we don't spend too much time in his office."

The two men made their way across the room and through one of the doors, ending up in another hallway, similar to the one near the bathroom. Moriarty finally removed his arm from around the doctor's waist (to John's visible relief) and they began walking down the hall. The criminal was being a little too quiet for John's taste; he hadn't said a word since they parted ways with Mr. Bythesea, not even responding to John's comment about the office. This made the doctor uneasy; either Moriarty was seriously pissed, planning something, or both. Any way you looked at it, it spelled trouble. John and he found himself gradually getting more and more tense and eventually started sneaking side glances at the criminal, just waiting for something to happen. At the end of the hallway stood a man in a suit with a tell-tale bulge under his arm; even dressed up as he was, he was obviously a security guard. As they approached he straightened his posture and moved so he was blocking their way forward. Coming to a stop in front of the guard, Moriarty put his hands in his pockets, his body loose and relaxed as he drawled,

"Jim Moriarty; Mr. Bythesea is loaning me his office for a while to take care of some business, so be a dear and let us through."

The security guard managed to maintain his professional blank face, but John saw his eyes flicker with a little bit of fear as Moriarty said his name. Almost immediately the guard stepped aside to let them go by.

"Of course, Mr. Moriarty; we were notified by Mr. Bythesea that you were coming. Have a good evening Sir, and let us know if you need anything."

Moriarty just smirked as he walked past the guard, motioning for John to follow him.

"Come on pet, time's a wasting."

Glancing down at his watch, Jim noticed he only had about four hours left with his doctor and he was determined to make the most of it. He was still irritated by his conversation with Bythesea; the nerve of the man was incredible. Jim couldn't believe Bythesea had thought that losing the cultists as clients it would affect his business. He had almost laughed in the man's face. He was going to absolutely ruin the man, fuck just getting him and his idiotic accomplices arrested. Nobody talked that way to Jim Moriarty and got away with it unscathed.

After about another ten minutes of John following Moriarty around the house, during which they had passed a few other security guards patrolling various areas. John made sure to count how many he saw and their positions just in case. Eventually they reached a door that seemed to be a little more important than the others with an electronic keypad attached. Moriarty quickly punched in a number on the pad and an audible click was heard as the passcode was accepted. Opening the door, Moriarty stepped through, John right behind him. Letting the door close and lock shut behind him, John took his first look at Bythesea's office. It was just as large and opulent as the other rooms in the mansion. On the left side, a large leather couch took up most of the length of the wall, a large oil landscape painting above it. The right side of the room was mostly covered with floor to ceiling bookshelves, except for a small section that contained a minibar and a sink. There was also a door that hung half opened and looked like it was a smaller bathroom than the one John and Moriarty had visited earlier. On the far end of the room, directly across from the door they entered through, was a huge, wooden, expensive-looking desk. Behind the desk was a large window with heavy-looking drapes that were currently pulled shut, blocking any sort of view to the outside. On the desk were a computer, a reading lamp, and a small but intricate clock. Off to the right side of the desk by the bookshelves was a leather chaise lounge, presumably for reading. Moriarty went directly to the desk and sat down in the large leather chair behind it. Pulling out a drawer that held the keyboard for the computer, Moriarty pressed the power button impatiently, waiting for it to boot up.

As the computer whirred to life and Moriarty began typing a rapid pace, John shifted uneasily on his feet. He was left wondering if he should go over to the desk and see what the criminal was doing, but not really wanting to get that close to Moriarty at the moment. John started examining his surroundings a little more closely. He wandered over to the bookshelves to see just what kind of books a man like Bythesea would display. Scattered around the room on the bookshelves and side tables were little statues, vases, and other small objects that John was sure were all expensive antiques of some kind. Engrossed in his observations, a sound from behind startled him and John whirled around to face the threat, only to see it was Moriarty getting up from the desk. Something about the criminal's demeanor was not quite right, as he walked around from behind the desk and practically glided his way over to John. Moriarty's expression was one of mild interest and his hands were casually stuffed non-threateningly in his trouser pockets.

During their walk to Bythesea's office, Jim's irritation had settled down a little and he didn't feel the need to lash out and kill the next idiot to cross his path. He felt a brief spike of amusement when he noticed the security guard recognize his name and (from the widening of the man's eyes) the reputation he had behind it. It was always nice when someone realized just how much he could fuck up their world if he wanted to. Finally they reached the office and Jim entered the code on the keypad to let them in. It had been easy for him to figure out the code the first time he had been here, and Bythesea wasn't the type to change codes very often. Still ignoring (but never unaware of) his pet, Jim walked over to the computer on the desk and sat down in Bythesea's comfortable chair. Booting up the computer, he didn't bother looking around the room: he had been here before and it was the typical decor of any rich snob. Making his way through the man's various computer programs and accounts, Jim noted with amusement that his pet was struggling with the fact that he obviously wanted to know what Jim was doing but was wary of coming to close to him.

He spent a few moments hacking into Bythesea's bank accounts and setting up a transfer of all the money to his own dummy accounts. While he waited for the transfer to go through, Jim found himself contemplating his next move in his game with the doctor. So far his pet had managed to recover from their encounter in the bathroom remarkably well - better than Jim wanted him too. But then again John Watson wasn't weak-willed or weak-minded. He wouldn't have lasted this long with Sherlock if he was either. Not to mention how well the doctor had handled being strapped into a bomb and used as a hostage. No, it would take something more than violence and pain to cause a crack in the doctor that would last.

Currently the man in question was examining some of the books and antiques Bythesea had scattered on his shelves, allowing Jim observe him a little unnoticed. The doctor was used to pain and violence, Jim mused, but what if instead he used pleasure and gentleness? Would the doctor be able to resist that? Jim didn't think so, and he _knew _the doctor didn't think that he was capable of anything but violence and cruelty. It would be an interesting experiment, if nothing else, but Jim had a feeling if he gave John the sexual attention and care that the doctor so obviously craved from Sherlock he would be able to crack the man right down the middle. John Watson would never be able to get rid of Jim after that no matter how hard he tried. The consulting criminal would be inside the doctor's mind, body, and soul _forever_. It wouldn't exactly be a hardship for Jim either - he itched to explore his pet's body thoroughly and see just what kinds of attention would him the best reactions anyway. His mind made up, Jim surreptitiously placed a small unopened bottle from the desk drawer into his pocket and left the computer running as he got to his feet. The sound of the chair moving startled the doctor, and he whirled around to face an imaginary threat. But then again, Jim thought, to John Watson he was a very real threat.

Jim approached the doctor, moving slowly forward in as non-threatening a manner as he could manage. Once he was close enough, he laid his hand gently on the other man's cheek. Blue eyes now the color of the summer sky looked at him warily and Jim knew his pet was trying to figure out what new game he was playing. In a way, Jim's actions were a part of the overall game he played with Sherlock and the doctor, but he found himself wanting to make his mark on the other man in a way that was different than how he usually did such things. He was going to show his pet just how good sex with someone like him or Sherlock _could_ be, and if Sherlock ever did take the doctor to bed, John would forever compare the two men in his mind, because Jim was the one who had him first. Jim pressed his body against the doctor's and let some of his intentions show on his face. His pet's eyes widened incredulously as he caught on to what Jim was insinuating.

"No…there is no way-" John cut himself off abruptly before taking a deep calming breath and speaking again, his voice revealing his skepticism and nervousness. "You can't possibly be ready to go again so soon."

Sliding around the doctor's body, Jim plastered himself against the man's back. With his chin resting on his pet's good shoulder and his lips barely half an inch from the other man's ear Jim spoke.

"This is different Johnny." Jim made sure his voice was as warm and comforting as he could make it. "You see, it occurred to me that I have been incredibly selfish so far tonight, just taking my own pleasure and not giving any back. No, this time it's going to be all about you. I'm going to show you what it's like to be with someone who is as observant and detail oriented as Sherlock and I am. Someone who can read every twitch, every expression, and every noise you make. I am going to make this everything you ever imagined sex could be, and when I'm done you won't be able to say it wasn't the best you've ever had."

Throughout Jim's speech, the doctor's muscles had tensed, making his body rigid, and his pulse had begun speeding up. Clearly his pet doubted him, but Jim would change that soon enough.

When Moriarty started walking towards him, John hadn't been expecting the gentle touch to his face. When he realized the criminal was insinuating that he was ready for another round, he couldn't believe it. Their encounter in the bathroom wasn't _that_ long ago. Jesus Christ, John just couldn't get a break tonight. His nerves were beyond frayed by now and he was only now starting to get his emotions completely back under control from what happened in the bathroom. Another sexual assault was going to send him straight back into chaos. He didn't know if his resolve to rescue Sherlock was going to be enough to get him through something like that again so soon.

John couldn't prevent his body from tensing up when Moriarty draped himself over his back; he was just glad the man's chin was resting on his good shoulder. When the criminal began talking about how he had been selfish last time and this time everything would be for John, he couldn't believe it. In his head, the army doctor was freaking out; it was one thing to be forced into a situation violently. His body wouldn't react in arousal to the pain and humiliation if Moriarty just took what he wanted and didn't care how affected John was. But from what the criminal was saying, he intended to get John to react with pleasure and read from his body what would cause the best reactions, the ultimate goal being to give him a mind blowing orgasm.

In his deepest, most hidden fantasies, there was one of Sherlock deciding that they would have sex and making use of his observational and deductive abilities to take John apart and give him the best night of his life. Just the thought of Sherlock's long white fingers running all over his body, finding all those hidden spots, cataloging and memorizing his reactions so the detective knew exactly how to touch John, could cause a slow, burning arousal to form within the doctor. John swiftly tamped down on those thoughts before they could cause a physical reaction and concentrated once again on what Moriarty was promising. If Moriarty followed through with what he was saying, John didn't think he was going to be able to keep his body from reacting. It had been so long since he had felt someone exploring him sexually, it wouldn't matter that it was Moriarty; if his body registered it as pleasure, he would react anyway and that was a horrifying thought. When all of this was over he didn't know how he was going to face Sherlock. The detective would be able to tell exactly what happened, probably down to every last sordid detail. John could already feel the discomfort squirming around in his stomach that would result from that conversation. The only thing he didn't know was whether or not Sherlock would truly understand why he had done it. Either way, Moriarty would win this particular battle. John would never be able to forget this night and if anything ever did happen with Sherlock, Moriarty's memory would always be there in his head. The psychopath wanted to leave his mark on John, something more than simply physical scars, and the doctor wasn't sure he was going to be able to stop that from happening.


End file.
